Wallflower
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Eames has a life changing experience with a wallflower. CROSSOVER SLASH Eames/Harry


**Wallflower**

Mr. Eames is a confidence man and a thief. He is also a serial seducer on a scale to rival Dorian Gray in his finest hour. His real birth records were destroyed as soon as he realized the advantage of controlling his own identity, and duplicates have been forged so many times over the years that he would be at a loss if you asked him to count them. None of the identifications in his wallet or his strongbox or in his many secure storage places contained information that was in any way accurate. The person he was born as was killed in an automobile accident when he was twelve, or so Eames led the computer records to believe.

He believed that if a lie was worth telling it was worth telling well.

Now, as a con man, Eames was accustomed to charming his way out of nasty situations and into the good graces of people with things worth stealing. With his handsome face of indefinite age and his impeccable wardrobe, he was very talented at getting his way. That talent was why he was currently snacking on hors d'oeuvres at a charity benefit for the survivors of a natural disaster. He hadn't bothered to find out which. What he was here for was just some smalltime pick pocketing and the free drinks. He wasn't working on a job at the moment and had gotten bored sitting alone in his hotel room.

If he was lucky, he could seduce someone tonight, someone worth taking back to his lonely room for the evening.

Scanning the room, he noticed someone standing against the wall, looking out one of the large windows at the cityscape. He ran his eyes up and down the person's body, taking especial notice of the callipygian backside and nicely-sized shoulders. Some men have sloping womanish shoulders and some have overlarge boxy monstrosities. This person had just the right shape. He gave the room a few more last minute sweeps, looking for better alternatives, and found none.

Smiling his most charming smile, he approached the wallflower like a panther approaches an antelope. He stood on the other side of the window for a moment and then turned to the wallflower. Close up, his place in Eames list of attractive attributes soared still higher. Eames was pleased to see that he possessed a snow-and-rose complexion, his personal favorite. There was hardly a flaw to his full-blown, animated, elemental, and not particularly well-groomed beauty. His decision was made.

"Buy you a drink?"

"No thank you," the wallflower responded with crushing dignity.

Eames was not crushed. He settled himself against the windowsill beside him and asked him if he was a recovering alcoholic to break the ice, expecting a stuttering embarrassed refusal of the claim. Most people disliked being accused of addiction. To his surprise, the wallflower snapped,

"Yes, and I'd appreciate if you'd take yourself and your whisky breath out of my personal space. I am trying to have a moment to myself and you're ruining it."

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that you looked like you could use some company."

He had no intention of leaving. Normally he didn't have the energy to seduce people that didn't want to be seduced, but he'd been bored lately and this was exactly the thing to break the chain of monotony. That and this wallflower was genuinely attractive and Eames was dead tired of superficially attractive people.

"I'm Eames," he waited a moment and then smirked, "I hoped you would reply to that, darling. I mustn't monopolize the conversation."

The wallflower dragged his eyes from the window give him a scathing look, "I came here alone. I intend to leave that way. Piss off."

Eames pissed off, but he wasn't happy about it.

Several drinks later, a boring speech, and a fumble in the kitchen pantry with an attractive waiter that come on to him too hot and heavy for his lowered inhibitions to withstand, Eames was again willing to try his hand at seducing the surly wallflower.

The wallflower was right where he'd left him, except he'd brought a chair over and was watching the now noticeably drunk guests stumble around the dance floor, laughing and shouting things to one another louder than the volume of the music called for. Eames stood nearby and watched with him, amused at the sight of so many dignified heavy weights frolicking like newly-liberated trust babies.

He sidled cautiously closer and snuck a peek at the wallflower. The wallflower pursed his lips and turned his head to look straight at him. After a moment, his stern expression melted into a wry smile.

"You're very persistent."

"Yes. I know I can be subtle, so I'm just going to say this outright. I'm attracted to you."

"I noticed," He took a sip of the ice water in his hands, "Do you want to seduce me?"

"Will you let me?"

He shrugged a shoulder, "That depends on how hard you try."

Eames went on the offensive. He leaned down and daringly dropped a kiss on the flesh just behind his ear. Smiling, he whispered, "How's that?"

"Just right. Come on, let's go get my coat."

And just like that the wallflower deposited his ice water on the lacquered floor and began striding towards the exit. Eames was mystified by the way the rowdy crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and without seeming to notice that they were making way for someone. He wondered if they felt the same magnetic pull he did, and if they responded to it like sheep to a sheep dog. Submissively, and without conscious thought.

His new friend handed his ticket to the girl at the coat check and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers while he waited for her to sort it out. Eames came over to stand across from him. The wallflower gave him a cool-eyed look, obviously not feeling as on edge as Eames suddenly did. The magnetism he'd felt inside had only amplified now that he was away from the noise and crowds. It was as though he was emitting a chemical that made Eames head feel full of blood even as all of it rushed down to his groin. He could almost taste it.

The coat was handed over, and Eames realized he didn't know his name. He asked for it.

"I've got more than one," He frowned through the usual search for a fugitive armhole in his coat. He continued to speak as he pawed and groped, "But you can call me Harry."

The name seemed incongruous, calling to mind as it did a portly red-cheeked banker-type in a pinstriped suit. He decided it had to be false, but couldn't pass judgment considering that his own name was hardly truthful.

Harry wasn't much of a talker, and Eames felt no need to fill the silence. They walked briskly to his hotel. No one stopped them as they strode rapidly through the lobby and into an opening elevator. There was no one else inside, and Eames felt the temptation itching through his fingertips to do something foolish like tear Harry's clothes off. He remained self-controlled until the door was safely bolted behind them.

Then he allowed himself to pull as desperately at Harry's clothes as he wanted. Since it was extremely unlikely that they would never see each other again, he felt no need to maintain some kind of image or make an impression. He just did what felt natural. Harry made no complaints and followed suit, though his movements were subtler and less inhibited than Eames.

Eames decided it was because Harry was still stone-cold sober.

The sex was…memorable. Harry was uncommonly flexible, strong, and adventurous all at once. Eames did things he had never attempted drunk before, and some he had never attempted at all. Harry's aloof act disappeared after the first round, during which the mattress somehow fell off the bed frame.

After that it was as though Eames had taken a tiger to bed, not a man. And that magnetic sensation only got stronger as the night went on. His orgasms felt longer and more satisfying. His body felt powerful and electrified. He felt like he'd never felt before.

When they finally called it a night, Eames lay awake hyper, feeling as though his blood had turned to electricity, while Harry slipped peacefully into sleep. Eames felt frustrated that Harry had to rest, and even more frustrated that he couldn't rest himself. Sleep is the easiest function of the human body. Not being able to do so is ridiculous!

He must have dropped off eventually, though, because he woke up disoriented with the strong sense that there was supposed to be somebody else in the bed with him. There was no one. Harry! Where was he? Eames checked under the covers. He wasn't there. Oh, there he was at the other end of the room, out on the balcony, with his back turned, smoking a cigarette.

Like a psychic, Harry seemed to know he was looking at him. His low voice carried across the room, "Eames?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"This never happened and can't happen again."

"Alright." He was a little disappointed that they couldn't make this a regular occurrence, no strings attached, but he had had last night and he would force himself to be content with that.

"And this is not to say that I didn't enjoy it immensely."

"Oh, I know you did," he chuckled, feeling some good humor returning. "I'm going to take a shower."

When he came out Harry was gone.

~000~

That night he dreamed that he was walking down an endless gallery of portraits, all of them of Harry. The other tourists were all Harry. He left the gallery and found that all of the pedestrians on the busy city street he found outside also wore Harry's face. He stopped minding when one of the Harry-faced people suddenly approached him and kissed him full on the mouth.

He awoke feeling that same sensation of being electrocuted from the inside out.

Strange things began to happen after that. His reflexes felt quicker, his imagination wilder, and there was a terrifying incident when he awoke to find that he was floating a good two feet off of the bed.

He continued to dream about Harry until the day he died. He wished he'd never let him leave that hotel room.

~000~

End Wallflower

For those who didn't get it, Harry's magic took a liking to Eames and some of it decided to make its home in his veins.


End file.
